


Tilt

by darkpriestess



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will Graham, Hannibal is a love sick idiot, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, So basically business as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5686648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkpriestess/pseuds/darkpriestess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of all her patients, Bedelia can’t think of one she has failed so entirely as Hannibal Lecter.  But who could have guessed that he, of all people, would be brought so low by love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tilt

Out of all her patients, Bedelia can’t think of one she has failed so entirely as Hannibal Lecter.  But who could have guessed that he, of all people, would be brought so low by love? She had always looked admired his control over his environment and his emotions-it may not have been a healthy thing for a psychiatrist to admit, but neither of them had much time for the sheer squalid messiness of feelings. The smell of danger had always lingered in his periphery, as long as she had known him but she had not let that concern her overly to begin with-the world was full of psychopaths after all, law-abiding citizens, the vast majority. And then Bedelia had killed her patient and Hannibal had been there to support her, to clean up the mess, and gratitude had stifled her fear, at least for a time.

But then, Will Graham had burst into Hannibal's life and she had not been able to see Hannibal without smelling the reek of danger that emanated from him, stronger and stronger as the walls around his emotions collapsed and she had become truly terrified of him at last.

Will, on the other hand, she had completely misread from the start, buying into the wounded puppy eyes which hid a vindictive streak, and far worse, concealed a total lack of self awareness or emotional restraint. Where Hannibal was cold, clinical control, Will was chaos, blind destruction, hurtling from one emotion to the next, dragging Hannibal along for the ride and in the process completely obliterating all traces of the man she had once admired. When Bedelia had run off to Florence with Hannibal, there had been, in amongst the danger and fear and excitement, a sense of responsibility to her patient. Perhaps, she thought, I can still help him, drag him from this madness. Being a serial killer was no excuse for moping around like a teenager rejected by their first crush, after all, and in the beginning it had seemed to work. Hannibal had donned his person suit again, and while it did not fit him as it once had, Bedelia had figured that that would improve with time and therapy.

But it had not. The person suit had slipped further and further as Will had made his way across Europe and as Hannibal murdered their dinner guests and behaved more and more recklessly, Bedelia’s terror had returned and she had been forced to admit to herself that she could no longer help Hannibal. She had to get out before he destroyed her with him, and it had been a near thing.

Bedelia is terrified of him still, but at this moment she is more terrified of the man at his side. Hannibal has found her again, just as he had threatened to, but he is not even bothering to look at her, the woman he intends to kill and then eat (or, Bedelia thinks queasily, to eat and then kill). Instead he is directing his attention solely at Will, a man she has liked less and less with each subsequent meeting. She can’t imagine today will be any exception.

Bedelia offers them both a drink, because now is not the time to be rude, and takes the time to study her former patient-former _patients_ -while Hannibal gazes moonily at Will and Will smiles sardonically at her.

“It’s nice to see you again, Bedelia” Will says in a tone implying the exact opposite. He studies her for a moment longer, than tosses down his drink like it’s cheap hooch rather than a 21 year old single malt- _surely Hannibal has taught him better manners than that?_ -and moves solicitously to her side, sitting down in the chair next to her. Will pats her arm reassuringly and Bedelia narrowly restrains herself from slapping him, but the glimmer of amusement in his eyes shows her he didn’t miss the impulse.

“I know you must be frightened” -there’s that urge to slap him again, with a side of nails down his pretty face-”and I wanted to reassure you that neither of us are here to kill you. _Isn’t that right darling?”_ This last part is directed sharply at Hannibal, who sighs in a put upon manner.

“As Will says, Bedelia. When we leave, you will be alive, and whole. Well, mostly whole.” The first words Hannibal has spoken, and he has still barely glanced at her, completely absorbed in Will.

“You see Bedelia” Will continues “Hannibal was determined to kill you-”

“Especially after hearing that you referred to Will as _twitchy_ ” Hannibal interjects. “That's not just rude, but unprofessional, Doctor du Maurier. What would the ethics board say?” Another sharp look from Will shuts him up. Hannibal returns to his drink, and Bedelia is pleased to see that _someone_ is appreciating her liquor. Will turns back to her and appears to be trying to inject some compassion into his voice, but it merely comes over as amused pity.

“We’re not going to kill you. But you played without paying, and that goes against the rules. Or have you forgotten about _Contrapasso_? So here’s what we’ll do. You behave yourself-no trying to stab us or contact the authorities-and we’ll cook you dinner. We’ll even do the washing up.”

“What's for dinner, Will?” Bedelia asks, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. There’s that flash of pity in his eyes again, but she blinks and it has vanished as though it never existed.

“Something you can live without, I promise.”

“And how-” Bedelia knows this is unwise, but ploughs on regardless “-did you bargain for my life? On your back?”

Will leans back in his chair and laughs, which is not quite the reaction she was expecting.

“No.” Will runs his thumb unconsciously over his bottom lip, smiling at her in genuine amusement. “ I have no need for that kind of games, unlike yourself. When I’m on my back, it’s entirely for my own pleasure.”

“Not just your own” Bedelia sneers and Will smiles over at Hannibal, where he stands moonstruck against the doorway, watching Will with an expression that manages to be terrible and gentle at once.

“Not just his own, Bedelia, but I assure you, thoughts of you have never been entertained in our bed.” And even now, Hannibal is not watching her, the woman he fed oysters and masala and acorns to in Florence, the woman he was going to _savour._ They intend this to be a humiliation, not even granting her the courtesy of death. And to owe her life to _this_ man is the final betrayal.

Will smiles at her, terrifying, and leans in close to whisper into her ear.

“I won your life in a hand of poker. A very bad hand, I should add, but our mutual friend here is appalling at bluffing-although I’m sure you knew that already. Luckily for you, I’m a very good player.”

He rises to his feet and stretches out his hand to her.

“Shall we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Tilt: a poker term for a state of mental or emotional confusion or frustration in which a player adopts a less than optimal strategy, usually resulting in the player becoming over-aggressive.


End file.
